Status Updates From In Memory of Memory

Then the museum advisor, a historian, asked me what I was writing about and I began to explain. “Ah,” he said. “One of those books where the author travels around the world in search of his or her roots—there are plenty of those now.”
“Yes,” I answered. “And now there will be one more.”

"Every age produces it's own particular dust that settles on every surface and in every corner,"

The catastrophe is displaced, the hole is resealed, things find their places once again, everyone is alive, there are no omissions, no silences. It is, in it's own way, Paradise Before the Fall (there are far too many people now who think that Europe in 1929 or Russia in 1913 were such paradises)...but "there" does not exist.

"There is so much documentary cinema occupied with this archaeology, that any scene, even any face, looks instantly familiar...the ancient division between important and unimportant is everywhere: The hero speaks, the girl eats icecream, the crowd loiters as crowds do... the author tells a story, the passerby illustrates the story. It's never about them, they are cutaway scenes... they fill the pauses, delight the

Just reached Part Two of the book. Still asking myself the similar question that the Booker Prize judges asked themselves while reading this book, "Is Maria Stepanova's In Memory of Memory a work of fiction?" Part of it seems to me like a memoir chronicling the family history of a Jewish family in Russia, while also in times turning to essay forms in the style of Sontag. Genre is an outdated concept, sui generis

Just reached Part Two of the book. Still asking myself the similar question that the Booker Prize judges asked themselves while reading this book, "Is Maria Stepanova's In Memory of Memory a work of fiction?" Part of it seems to me like a memoir chronicling the family history of a Jewish family in Russia, while also in times turning to essay forms in the style of Sontag. Genre is an outdated concept, sui generis